If you’re old enough to remember the last time Halley’s comet was visible, you probably remember the “cow toy” or maybe even the “pig toy” that used to be on display in front of certain mall stores like Kirkland’s or KB Toys.

These animals would waddle a couple of steps, make their species-appropriate noise and wag their tail or wiggle their nose or some such cuteness.

When my daughter was a baby, we did the whole nursery thing: crib, rocking chair, changing table, toy chest, etc. After investing several hundred dollars in this set-up, I discovered I my inner hippie and we became “family bed” people, meaning the only time we got crib use was when I wanted to clean house during her nap time…like, say, twice a year or so.

On one such day, my sweet baby girl fell asleep and, feeling an inexplicable need to vacuum, I took her upstairs, put her in the crib with some “babies”, pulled the blanket up and the door closed, and left her to snooze peacefully. I would check on her from time to time, as she was such a good-natured baby she almost never cried. When she woke, she would just stare at her toes or make mouth bubbles or whatever else babies do. On this day, however, she woke SCREAMING. Not the “I’m hungry” cry, or the “I’m alone” whimper, not even the “I HAVE DIAPER RASH AND MY TUSHY BURNS!!!!” wail. This was a full-blown scream of terror.

I flew up the stairs (as all super-moms do), rushed into her room to find her flailing in one corner of her crib, her feet entangled in a blanket, as she frantically attempted to escape it. Poor kid. I picked her up, checked her out, and soothed her mini-freak-out. She was fine. Once she quieted down, I heard a softly recurring “mooooo” from under the blanket that had been twisted around her feet. I turned off the little cow she must have inadvertantly kicked on in her sleep, and we went off to play.

Some days later we were in the nursery reading books and playing with blocks, when I set the cow between us and flipped him on. He started to waddle and before he could “moo”, Kacey was in full-blown screaming freak-out mode.

Seems when she kicked on our little bovine friend, his electronic noises woke her, and not being able to escape from under the blanket that imprisoned them both, she experienced her first panic attack.

She never could play with the cow again.

Though, every now and again, for my own sadistic entertainment, I would flip it on just to see what happened. Yeah…Super-Mom has a dark side.

She sat across the booth from her teenage son in one of those chain restaurants. Dark wod, huge bar, kitschy memorabilia hanging from the rafters, and seven strategically placed big-screens distracting you from the fact that you are paying $26.94 for a couple of burgers and a glass that contains more ice than tea.

During their burger wait time, the sugar packets offered further diversion with trivia questions:

The Boy grabbed one and queried, “Who recorded ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’?”
“Billy Joel!” she blurted.

“Jurassic Park was released in what year?”
“1993, the same year you came screeching into my life like a hungry raptor,” she smiled and stuck out her tongue. He gave her one of those teenage boy looks. The kind of look that says, “You’re much too old to be as funny as you think you are.”

He continued, “What fictional town is the setting for many of Stephen King’s novels?” She paused for a second to search the recesses of her right brain for this information hidden between Casablanca and Clapton, Eric. Two words…begins with a C…

The Boy raised an eyebrow and his lips curled into an evil little grin, believing he had stumped her, but this kid was clueless how much Stephen King his mother had read over the years.
“Castle Rock!” she finally proclaimed.

Eventually one of the little white packets posed a personal pop-culture question:It read, “Who would play you in the movie of your life?”

Oooo, a deep, thought-provoking question…let’s see…she’s too young for Meryl and much too old for Mila.

Tongue-in-cheek she responded, “Easy. Because of our physical similarities I would have to say…” and before the name “Angelina Jolie” rolled off her tongue, her son spurted out,

“Kathy Bates”?

Ugh. He was seventeen and REALLY good at it.

She then mumbled something about a sledgehammer and hobbling him like James Caan, but lucky for the Boy, the burgers arrived.

After the drama of yesterday’s flat hair we wonder how much more Stephanie and the cowboy can take? HOW. MUCH. MORE? They have now entered their 50th hour without working indoor plumbing. FIFTY HOURS. That’s roughly 3,000 minutes suffering in the desert of their shared abode.

As the day begins, Stephanie washes her hair in the sink with a pitcher of tepid water. Ironically, what seems tepid for brushing one’s teeth translates to glacier water on the scalp, giving new meaning to the term “Brain Freeze” (cue Foreigner’s “Cold As Ice”). However, the cold water washing allows for adequate blow drying and ample hair volume, narrowly averting what could have been a tragic second Bad Hair Day.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Meanwhile, back at the chemical plant, the cowboy takes off an hour early to go to the chiropractor for his aching back. If a supervisor calls him in for overtime this week, he will have to work the first hour at his regular hourly pay. Regular pay. But it’s a risk he has to take.

The sound of his groaning and back popping at the chiropractor’s leaves us wondering: Will the cowboy be able to bend his body into the needed position for fixing the pipes? For that matter, will he even be able to take off his steel-toed boots to put on his “crawl under the house” boots without help?

Simultaneously, Stephanie makes a crucial stop at Plumb-o-Rama. Will they have the needed parts in stock? Will she be able to discern PVC from galvanized iron? Can she manage the right length and thickness?

(That’s what she said.)

Finally, both of them home with proper parts and proper boots, it’s back into the creepy crawl space for the cowboy. Only this time, he accesses it from the vent at the front of the house – which, although nearer the leak, is a MUCH smaller, much shallower vent than before – causing the cowboy crucial claustrophobic hesitation.

Will he be able to muster the courage to crawl?

Hesitantly, he enters the darkness headfirst, knowing the tight turnaround may totally prevent re-exit through the same vent. Once under, he calls for Stephanie. He needs her to go outside to the shut off valve and make the counter-clockwise turn to discern the exact location of the leak.

Stephanie rushes to her closet to search for the right pair of “going out to the meter” shoes and makes the 130-ft trek out to the yard. She twists the valve on. (cue “Twist & Shout”) No sooner does she turn the water on than the cowboy yells for her to turn it back off!

Frustration and confusion! Not only does he want her to turn it back off, he also wants her to wait. WAIT? Outside? She doesn’t have on “waiting” shoes, she has on “going to the meter shoes”.

What to do? What. To. Do???

Stephanie feels her upper lip beginning to glisten. Tiny drops of moisture forming on her skin. This could only mean one thing: SWEAT. The cowboy better hurry before she starts to melt. Lucky for Stephanie, the “Going to the Meter” shoes also double as appropriate front porch swing shoes, so she decides to take refuge on the swing and wait out this plumbing plight.

Back under the house, the cowboy-turned-plumber is commenting – loudly – on how tight the vent was to crawl into, and Stephanie may have to help him get back out. She tells him not to worry. She is certain if his middle is too round to fit, and he has to remain wedged there for several days in a great tightness, she will be certain to visit every day and feed him honey until Christopher Robin can help with the rescue effort.

The idea of being wedged in the vent was not at all humorous to the cowboy. NOT. AT. ALL. And he stated, in no uncertain terms, if he were to be “caught in a tight spot”, Stephanie had better do everything in her power, including greasing him like a pig, hooking him to a winch, (not to be confused with ‘wench’, which he might enjoy too much), and calling the National Guard and Bob’s Tow Truck to unwedge him.

Stephanie gets distracted by the word ‘wedge’ and daydreams about new shoes until the cowboy proclaims …

Stay tuned for the Season Finale of PipeBusters after this word from our sponsor.

The cowboy proclaims, ‘TURN THE WATER ON!’

Stephanie hurdles the shrubbery and dashes the 40 meters to the meter. Which, in reality, and this is a reality show, means she stepped in between the boxwoods and meandered back to the meter in a record 92 seconds.

She turns the meter on, and behold there is water, and it is good. (cue “Hallelujah Chorus”)

The cowboy begins the army crawl back to the vent. He tosses the tools out first. Contracting himself into the fetal position, he emerges from under the house. Face down, he pushes painfully through the small hole, centimeter by centimeter until he lets out a cry for fresh air. His shoulder is next, followed by the other, then the rest sliding out easily, but bringing uneasy repressed birth memories.

The job has been completed. After a mere 62 hours, and without the silliness of a professional plumber, the leak has been defeated. For now. At least the one under the house. The dripping shower is a different story

(cue “Shower the People You Love” by James Taylor).

Yes, the leaky shower faucet is a very different story. A lengthy story. A story appropriate for the next season of PipeBusters on the Reality Channel.

When we last left our victims, the cowboy-turned-plumber had been made aware of a possible skunk under the house just as a main waterline blew. He had given up the claustrophic chore of crawling beneath the concrete to conquer the catastrophe, postponing it until tomorrow. But the dreaded “TOMORROW” is now today. BUT soon there will be water and all will be well.

Well. Water. See what we did there?

COMMERCIAL BREAK (because our dilemma is like a train wreck and you can’t look away, we dare to advertise earlier in the show, knowing you will stay tuned for more.)

Stephanie begins her day as usual, up at the crack of 8 or 8:15. She meanders to the bathroom, turns the faucet to run her water, and is faced with the harsh reminder: NO water. No hot morning bath. She plugs in the curling iron and brushes her teeth from a dwindling pitcher of lukewarm water. Lukewarm water and toothpaste first thing in the morning. Gag.

NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO LIVE LIKE THIS!!!

AND, to make matters worse, one of the vanity lights is blown, leaving her face only half lighted. And it’s not the pretty half. She brushes through her hair and begins to curl. But something is not right. Something is quite wrong. Her hair is flat. A tragic by-product of sleeping on damp hair the night before. She curls more. And more. Lifting and spraying as she goes. Despite her best efforts, her hair WILL be flat today. Flat. And she has to go out in public. In public. Where there are people. Real people. Who will see her flat hair. The horror. The horror! (cue melodramatic music)

Back home that evening, humiliated by her bad hair day, Stephanie begins dinner… watermelon, watercress salad, roasted water chestnuts. The cowboy arrives from work some minutes later, looking like a decaying extra from The Walking Dead. He hurts. All over. Neck pain. Back pain. Knee pain. “Bad day,” he comments, “aching all over. Swelling. Pain. Head hurts”

“It might be a tumor,”Stephanie snarks.

“It’s not a tumor,” the cowboy groans. He is in no shape nor mood to go to Plumb-o-Rama, much less do the plumbing repairs.

No shape at all.

Disheartened and dusty, Stephanie must face the reality that there will be no running water again tonight. She thinks, “So this is how the people in Mississippi feel.”

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Yet another day without water. The laundry is piling up. The dishwasher is overloaded. The pitchers of water are running dangerous low. The toilet is being flushed with a 5-gallon bucket of pond water.

Will the promise of a hot shower ease the cowboy’s aches and pains? Will he be able to complete this job with one MORE tomorrow?

After all, tomorrow is another day.

Stephanie raises her fist to the sky,
“With God as my witness, I’ll never have flat hair AGAIN!”

Stay tuned for the thrilling season finale of PipeBusters on The Reality Channel.

“A water break? Water is for cowards. Water makes you weak.”Coach Boone, Remember the Titans

(cue Nintendo music from Mario) In our last episode, the water had to be precariously shut off at the water meter in the yard, where hopefully a mama snapping turtle had not claimed it as her nesting ground as had been the case in a previous year. Using only a T-wrench and a stiff clockwise (‘righty tighty, lefty loosey”) turn, Stephanie and her son left the residence water-free and, hopefully, leak-free for several hours.

Come evening, Stephanie’s son is now perilously driving the winding highway crossing the Jack’s Fork River in Missouri not to be seen again for some time. Both Stephanie and the cowboy return from their respective days’ work to the mere two pitchers of water.

Two measly pitchers.

For two whole adults. One of whom actually DRINKS water.

How will they manage???

The claustrophobic cowboy knows he must forge the darkness that is the crawlspace under the house. (This would be a great time to run a local plumber’s commercial, alas, it is not commercial time yet.)

Removing the exterior vent cover nearest the central air unit, the cowboy-turned-amateur-plumber-because-heaven-forbid-we-pay-someone-to-do-a-job-today-that-he-can-do-himself-for-free-not-counting-supplies-over-a-period-of-several-days ‘army crawls’ into the damp darkness. Once he is securely wedged under the center of the house, he begins to bang and groan and saw. Stephanie chooses this critical juncture to share important information by yelling through the floor of the kitchen.

“Hey, COWBOY? You ARE aware that we have a skunk under the house again, aren’t you???”

Yeah. Pepe le Pew has been olfactorily announcing his presence for several consecutive evenings, only the cowboy has not been around to witness said smellevents (cue Looney Tunes music). Stephanie felt it was critical to add to his stress at this juncture in the process. From the deep recesses under the floor, we hear the cowboy holler, “NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

What if the skunk decides to investigate his presence?

What would happen if the cowboy got a face full of eau de skunk?

CUE COMMERCIAL FOR TAYLOR SWIFT’S NEW FRAGRANCE, “INCREDIBLE THINGS”.

Back under the house, lying in a puddle of mud, stressing about the potential threat of a skunk bombing and attempting to repair the leak, the cowboy seals what he is certain is the culprit. All is quiet in the house. The hissing has ceased. The leak is repaired. Sunlight breaks through the windows. Angels begin singing. Then suddenly a whooshing sound and the cowboy’s under-the-house-muffled-exclamatory “SON OF A …bleeeeeeeeep!!!!!!!!!!”

UNSCHEDULED COMMERCIAL BREAK

Stop the choir! The rejoicing was woefully premature, and the repair only served to stress the line further toward the front of the house, causing a full-on rupture of the pipe.

A full-on rupture.

Of the water pipe.

Water is now gushing, yea even exploding from the line, flooding the crawlspace with ounces of water per second. The cowboy shimmies to the exit hole and declares his work for the night to be over.

Over.

He will not complete the repair this evening. Not. Complete. The. Repair. Darkness is setting in, the part he needs is inaccessible until Plumb-o-Rama opens again tomorrow, and he is fed up, flustered, frustrated, and covered with muddy goo.

Disgusting muddy goo.

He announces to Stephanie: “Shower. Now. Take up more water. Then shut it back off. I’ll fix it tomorrow. TOMORROW. “(cue optimistic song from the musical “Annie”).

More water is stored in various kitchen containers. Enough for morning coffee, but not enough for a pasta dinner. Emergency showers are taken. Legs are left unshaven (and this is NOT November! The cowboy is risking serious stubble burn if he has his sights set on snuggling.)

Will he get it fixed tomorrow? Will Plumb-o-Rama have the needed parts? Will the cowboy bleed out during the night from a thousand tiny stabs from his wife’s leg hair stubble? Will they ever have linguine again?

Tune in next time for episode 3 of PipeBusters on the Reality Channel.

3:00 ET, 2:00 CST

Narrator’s voice: On the pilot episode of PipeBusters, we find Stephanie rising at the crack of 8:15 and making her way to the kitchen. She hears a noise. A terrifying noise. An ominous sound. An ominous hissing sound. (cue hissing sound) She lurks around quietly, trying to discern the location and cause. Snake? If so, Stephanie and her family could be in danger. Grave danger. Freon leak? If so, Stephanie and her mangoes could be in danger. Grave danger. Just then, in another room of the house, her son starts the water for his shower. Instantly, the threatening hissing noise is silenced.Almost simultaneously, Stephanie’s phone beeps. A text. Who could it be from?WHO??? (cue suspenseful music)

COMMERCIAL BREAK

The synchronized stoppage of the strange hissing sound in sync with her son’s shower and the incoming text is an awfully big coincidence. (Of course, everyone knows, there are no big coincidences or small coincidences, only coincidences.) Still, she grabs her glowing purple cell, eager to discover who, WHO, has texted at this wee hour of 8:15 a.m.??? It’s the cowboy, who left for work just after discovering the hissing noise. Text: Wrench in garage. Leak under house. Turn water off at meter.

There is a leak under the house. A leak. A water leak. Under the house. What to do? WHAT TO DO? (cue William-Shatner-deliberate-pause reading style). The cowboy says turn it off. TURN. IT. OFF. But her son is in the shower, preparing to leave for Missouri in 42 minutes (cue ticking clock sound). Missouri! In forty-two minutes! This could be the last decent shower he has for months! And Stephanie has yet to bathe. And it is imperative that she leave for work in 3 hours. Three hours! Not to mention vital laundry to finish – whites AND darks. And teeth to be brushed – 60 between the two of them, as Stephanie’s wisdom teeth were surgically removed in 1979. They need the water.NEED the water. (cue suspenseful music, pt.2)

COMMERCIAL BREAK

There is a water leak under the house. A potentially disastrous water leak. The water must be turned off, and fast before the crawl space becomes an ocean(cue John Williams’ brilliant music from “Jaws”). Yet Stephanie and her son need the water to finish getting ready. Stephanie urges him to shower quickly,”Rinse and go, boy, RINSE. AND. GO!” Once out of the shower, Stephanie begins a load of laundry, doing the unthinkable: mixing essential colors with whites in the same load. Now the cowboy’s tightie whiteys are in danger of turning pink. PINK.(cue “Get the Party Started”) There is not a single western shirt in his closet that goes with pink underpants. Not one. If this happens, he will not be happy.Not be happy at all. But drastic times call for drastic measures. Now Stephanie runs her bath water while the washer fills, simultaneously her son fills 2 pitchers, brushes his teeth. Miraculously the laundry finishes spinning only moments after Stephanie’s legs are shaved…DONE! And in record time – only 38 minutes from text to wrench twist and the water is OFF!

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Stephanie and her son are ready in record time, and the water is off, stopping both the leak and the hissing sound (which, of course, are one and the same, but still). Two half-gallon pitchers of water have been filled, giving them enough clean drinking water for 24 hours. Twenty-four hours. Only one day.After that, who knows? What will happen to them? Will they call a plumber? Will they make it a do-it-yourself project? Will they die from dehydration?

Tune in next time for episode 2 of PipeBusters on the Reality Channel.

I rarely rant. I almost never rave. If I seem taller than usual, it’s more likely from my new sparkly summer wedges than from standing on a soapbox. But … well … I want to say something that’s going to make some of you furious and others of you feel justified:

Natural childbirth is not possible in an unnatural world.

And we do live in an unnatural world — X-Men, Photoshop, reality tv, fast food, Donald Trump’s hair — and we believe what we see. (Except maybe for the hair.)

Our culture encourages those same “unreal” perceptions regarding childbirth. Movies and tv shows tell us labor will begin with intense pain and agony. We are shown images of women screaming and begging to be medicated. We are told to freak out when water breaks and rush to the hospital. We listen to the horror stories of our “friends.” We ignorantly put ourselves in the hands of people who are exceptionally well-trained to handle abnormalities and emergencies, hence all our births have become such abnormalities and emergencies.

And that’s just not reality.

We are NOT educating ourselves. We have lost our communal knowledge of the art of birthing and have chosen instead to simply trust the medical profession to decide what is best for us.

You can SAY all day long, “I want a natural birth,” but if you aren’t educating yourself, your chances of actually HAVING one are practically nonexistent. I mean, if you want to be a safe driver, but you don’t read the Driver’s Manual, or learn to operate a vehicle from someone who knows how, or even take a driver’s ed class, you MIGHT get in the car and know WHERE you want to go, but what are the chances of actually making it there safely? Probably about the same as having an uneducated natural birth.

Now, by “educating yourself,” I do NOT mean taking the little hospital class that tours you through Labor & Delivery, makes you watch the epidural video and discusses all the things that “could go wrong” and how the hospital will deal with them. NO. NO. An emphatic NO.

Read for yourself: Literature from both ends of the spectrum, from Twinkle Ding-Dong Yoga Birthing toShut Up and Put Your Feet in the Stirrups. Go ahead and take the Labor & Delivery tour at the hospital, then go to an independent childbirth class. Drink in A Baby Story on TLC, then chase it with The Business of Being Born on Netflix.

What determines the outcome of your labor hinges sharply on choosing to educate yourself and surround yourself with the support you need. And, as a doula, while I heavily advocate drug-free birthing, my job is to help you have the experience you want. Schedule a C-section, squat in a cornfield, whatever. It is, after all, YOUR body, YOUR baby, YOUR decision.